


Beds + Break Ins + Bargains

by violetvaria



Series: Life, Interrupted AU [1]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Gen, Life Interrupted AU, Mild Language, Past Abuse, Protective Jack Dalton (MacGyver 2016), Threats of Violence Against Children, mild violence, past trauma, teen!Mac
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-06 00:30:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20282419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetvaria/pseuds/violetvaria
Summary: When freelance operative Jack Dalton offered a traumatized seventeen-year-old agent a place in his home, he didn't realize the extent of the damage that had been done to the kid's mental state. Nor did he anticipate how much he would care.~~~set in the Life, Interrupted AU





	Beds + Break Ins + Bargains

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [and I will carry you forward](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8275637) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 
  * Inspired by [don't tell me you're fine as you crumble before my eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8379073) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 

> This is set in the orphaned Life Interrupted AU. Reading that series first is HIGHLY recommended. Short synopsis: Jack is a freelance operative who took a short-term job with an agency called Penumbra, where he met seventeen-year-old Mac. Penumbra, under the direction of Lauren Hastene, held Mac for an unknown number of years, abused and brainwashed him (control phrase “lonely grass”), and forced him to work for them. When they decided he was no longer useful and released him, Jack took him home. Read the first in the series: [**and I will carry you forward**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8275637).
> 
> This story begins immediately after [**don't tell me you're fine as you crumble before my eyes**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8379073) and briefly refers to [**Consciences, or Lack of Them**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8592106) and [**there's a mountain before us but we're taking it one step at a time**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8752723).
> 
> WARNINGS: mild allusions to past trauma/abuse of a minor, belief that a person has no self-worth, tiny amount of abuse of a minor (one slap), hint of the start of a panic attack (non-graphic), mild violence (against bad guys), some strong language (only a few words, but more than I usually write)

When Jack awakens, neck sore from leaning on the back of the couch, he groans and feels a sudden movement at his side, and then the warmth that he didn’t realize was on his shoulder is gone. He opens his eyes to see the kid sitting rigidly at the other end of the couch, deliberately not looking at Jack.

_At least he stayed until I woke up_, Jack thinks wearily. This kid is going to require incredible patience, and Jack has never considered himself a particularly patient man.

“You ready for bed, kid? A real bed, this time, instead of the couch?”

Jack hadn’t thought it was possible, but MacGyver stiffens even more, covertly studying Jack out of the corner of his eye.

“C’mon.” Jack stands, deciding he can’t wait around all night for the kid to respond.

MacGyver rises too, posture tense until Jack steps away from him and gestures for the kid to follow. Then he obediently falls in line as Jack leads him to the guest room.

“Go get ready for bed, kid.” Jack points at the attached bathroom.

MacGyver just stares at him.

“Go on. Take a shower or brush your teeth or whatever you need to do. There’re extra toothbrushes and stuff in there.” Jack takes a minute to consider the situation a little more. “Oh. I’ll…find you something you can wear to sleep in, okay? We’ll get you some more clothes later.”

This clearly shocks the teen, far more than Jack thinks it should. MacGyver backs into the bathroom, not turning away from Jack, and then pauses just inside, lips partway open as though he wants to speak.

“What is it, kid?” Jack really hopes he can break the kid of the habit of waiting to be prompted to talk.

MacGyver shifts from one foot to the other. “Sir, may I—close the door?”

Jack just barely resists the urge to lift a hand to rub away the pain behind his eyes. “Yeah, kid. I’ll leave the clothes out here on the bed, okay?”

And maybe he should leave it at that, should walk away now while the kid marginally trusts him, but Jack is remembering the shivering form curled on the floor because the teen thought he couldn’t have a bed. So he says, “You can let me know when you’re dressed.”

MacGyver’s jaw clenches, but he nods once, withdrawing into the bathroom and closing the door so quietly Jack doesn’t even hear the latch click.

Fifteen minutes later, the kid hesitantly cracks the door of the bedroom, clad in one of Jack’s old t-shirts and a baggy pair of sweatpants. Well, they’re baggy on the skinny teen, anyway, and the shirt hangs off him like he’s a scarecrow, but he smells like soap and mint toothpaste, so Jack figures he’s as close to ready for bed as he can get for tonight.

Jack takes a step and then pauses. “I’m going to come in, okay, kid?”

MacGyver silently opens the door wider and moves back, eyes on the floor. But Jack can feel the kid watching him as he enters and heads straight for the bed.

Jack tries to ignore the creeping sensation in his shoulder blades at the unaccustomed scrutiny. He pulls down the blankets, absentmindedly fluffing a pillow, before turning.

“Okay, kid. In you go.”

MacGyver’s head lifts at this, blue eyes wide in surprise. Jack gestures again.

“C’mon.”

The kid takes a single step forward in response to the command but then stops again.

_At this rate, it will be morning before he gets in bed._

“Kid, we don’t have all night, okay? Please just get in bed.” Jack thinks it might help if he moves further away, so he does, releasing his hold on the bedcovers and waiting at the foot of the bed.

Angus is glancing between the bed and Jack, chewing his lip, and Jack can almost see the wheels turning in his mind as he tries to figure out what kind of trap this is. Jack wants to scream.

“No trick, bud,” he says, managing to keep his voice gentle. “I don’t want you sleeping on the floor again, so I just need to make sure you get in bed. Then I’ll leave, I promise.” A new thought occurs to him. “’Course, you need to promise you’ll actually stay in bed and sleep there.”

The kid is back to wide-eyed staring.

“Kid? Did you hear me?”

The response is automatic. “Yes, sir.”

Jack can’t keep from scrubbing a hand over his face. He is just too damn tired for this. He approaches the teen an inch at a time, hating the tension radiating off the slim figure, hating the organization that put it there, hating the ugly certainty of what this kid has been through.

“C’mon, it’s okay,” he murmurs, slowly, _slowly_ putting a hand on MacGyver’s shoulder. He waits for the kid to adjust to his touch and then applies very light pressure, willing the boy to move.

MacGyver responds to the physical command, shuffling forward until he reaches the side of the bed, head down once again.

“That’s it. Now hop on in.” Jack removes his hand then, afraid to touch the kid when he’s horizontal. From the teen’s reactions, he doesn’t think Mac ever went through _that_, but the thought makes Jack sick and he doesn’t want to take the chance. This isn’t the time to be thankful for small favors, not when the kid has clearly been traumatized in just about every other way.

Angus moves at glacier speed, sitting on the mattress and sliding his legs under the covers, all while doing that staring-while-turned-away thing that Jack finds incredibly eerie in a kid his age.

“Lie down.”

There is a long pause, and Jack thinks he might need to repeat the command, but then MacGyver complies, not moving any faster than he has been.

_This is the longest tucking-in ritual in the history of bedtimes_, Jack thinks, and is startled at his own labels. _Is that what this is? What have you gotten yourself into, Jack Dalton?_

Eons later, when Angus is finally resting against the pillows, looking for all the world as though he is mid-leap instead, Jack dares to get closer to the head of the bed. He reaches for the bedding, careful to keep his hands in sight at all times, and folds the blankets over the teen.

“Warm enough?”

He isn’t sure he’ll receive a response, but the kid’s eyes travel from Jack’s hands to his face, and he whispers, “Yes, sir.”

Jack sighs. “Okay, kid. Sleep there all night, got it? When you get up, we’ll have breakfast, and then we’ll figure out what clothes and other stuff we need to get ya.”

The mention of breakfast piques the kid’s interest, but he almost immediately looks troubled again.

“Anything you wanna say, kid?”

“Um.” A question is hovering on his lips, and Jack wills him just to ask, just to say whatever he’s thinking, but then MacGyver is looking away. “No, sir. Sorry.”

Jack is too exhausted to pursue it further tonight, so he just says, “Don’t apologize, bud. You didn’t do anything wrong. Just get some sleep, and I’ll see you in the morning, all right?” He doesn’t wait for the answer he isn’t sure will come anyway, and he heads for the door, turning off the light as he goes.

But when Jack reaches the doorway, he turns back. “Hey, kid?”

There is a faint sound of acknowledgement.

“You’re a person, remember? That bed is yours for as long as you want it, and there will always be food for you. No one is ever going to take that away from you again. Got it?”

He waits.

“Thank you…Jack.”

Jack smiles for the first time in what feels like hours. “Goodnight, kid.”

~~~

Jack is surprised at how easily they fall into a routine. While the kid is still wary and far too silent, every night, he follows Jack to the guest room and lets him put him in bed. He hasn’t reached the point of believing the bed is his without explicit permission—Jack tried sending him to his room on his own once, walked past half an hour later, and saw the kid still standing near the door, shoulders slumped—but at least they are making progress.

And then a phone call interrupts all that.

Jack has been watching the kid try to hide his increasingly frequent yawns, wondering if MacGyver will ever admit to being tired, or ask to go to bed, or just walk into his room without direct approval.

Not yet, apparently.

“Time for bed, kid?” Jack asks quietly.

As always, the blue eyes dart up to his face, but at least there is no fear in them. Angus quirks a small smile, something he has been doing a little more often, and Jack smiles back.

“Okay.” He stops when his phone rings, and he frowns at the late hour and the blocked number. He waves a hand. “Go on in, kid. I’ll be right there.”

MacGyver hesitates, brow furrowing at Jack’s phone, but then he disappears up the stairs, soundless as a wraith.

When Jack enters his room a few minutes later, he finds the kid, as expected, hovering near the bed, the blankets still tucked in with military precision. Jack tried to compliment the teen on his bedmaking skills once, but MacGyver’s reaction taught him not to bring up memories any more than he could help.

Jack pulls back the covers and gestures, and Angus crawls in quickly, not waiting for the man to move away first. The knot that has existed in Jack’s stomach since he first met this kid eases a fraction more, just as it has every night MacGyver shows that he is gaining scraps of confidence.

After pulling the blankets up, Jack pats a slender shoulder, an action that is accepted serenely after so many repetitions. The blue eyes are already sliding shut, and Jack feels his heart swell a little. The kid is no longer worried about what Jack might do when he isn’t watching.

Jack surprises both himself and Angus when he sits down on the edge of the bed, something he has never done before—would never have dared. But these are unusual circumstances.

MacGyver’s eyes fly open, but Jack is relieved to note the kid looks surprised, not scared. Without thinking, he rests a hand on the too-thin chest, absently monitoring the only slightly accelerated heartbeat, while he focuses on the pale and serious face.

“Kid, I’ve gotta tell you something. Relax, it’s nothing bad. At least, nothing you need to worry about.”

This is not going well, but it could be worse. MacGyver has paled, wide eyes growing wider, pulse rate climbing, but he hasn’t moved away from Jack’s hand and is still watching Jack’s face.

“That phone call? That was from a friend of mine. A good friend. The kind that you drop everything for.”

Jack realizes that these words probably mean nothing to the kid.

“Anyway, he needs help. He needs _my_ help.”

Jack takes a deep breath. Why is this so difficult to say? Angus hasn’t moved, hasn’t given any indication of what he’s thinking.

“I’m sorry, kid.” Jack finds himself apologizing and isn’t a hundred-percent sure why. “I’m gonna have to leave in a few hours, and I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. More than a day, for sure.”

MacGyver continues to do his impression of a wax statue, but Jack can almost hear the clashing of gears grinding in the kid’s head.

“I’m sorry to leave you alone, but I’ll be back as soon as I can, all right? There’s plenty of food in the fridge, and you can help yourself to whatever you want.”

The kid finally blinks, but Jack still isn’t sure what he’s thinking.

“Come on, kid, talk to me.”

MacGyver’s mouth opens and he takes a breath, then pauses as if changing his mind. When he speaks, the words are flat and spoken in that too-quiet voice that gives Jack chills. “I understand, sir.”

Jack wants to scream. “No, I’m not sure you do understand, kid.” He lifts a hand to cut off the anticipated apology. “I really do have to go help my friend. I’m not leaving you. You’re not being punished. This isn’t a test to see what you’ll do. I just want you to take care of yourself while I’m gone.”

MacGyver’s lower lip is quivering almost imperceptibly, but the kid bites down on it, hard.

“Hey, kid?” Jack’s voice drops as he realizes he probably should have addressed this earlier. “You’re not a prisoner here, you know? I like having you around, but I’m not going to force you to stay if you don’t want to. You can leave anytime you want. But I’m not asking you to leave. You’re more than welcome here. You will always have a home here or anywhere I am.”

Angus looks confused, but his heartrate is slowing, and Jack takes advantage of the opportunity.

“If you want to leave, I won’t stop you. In fact, I’ll help you figure out what you wanna do.” Jack pushes the vision of a seventeen-year-old fending for himself to the back of his mind to think about later. “But right now, it would really help me a lot if I knew you were safe here. Otherwise, I’ll just be worryin’ about ya the whole time I’m gone.”

MacGyver’s expression has softened, and he’s stopped chewing on his lip, so Jack hesitantly reaches up and uses two fingers to stroke the fine blond hair away from the kid’s face. His eyes flutter closed for just a second, and then he looks up at Jack, expression deep and wise and just a hair’s breadth away from _trusting_.

“I’ll stay,” he whispers, and Jack wants to hug him, but he doesn’t, of course. He has tried that only once, and although the kid allowed it with the same submissive attitude with which he allows most things, Jack hasn’t wanted to push his luck.

“Good man,” he says instead. “I’ll probably be gone before you get up, but you sleep as long as you want, okay? You know where everything is?”

Angus nods minutely.

“All right, just help yourself to anything you want. I mean it, kid. Don’t starve yourself while I’m gone, okay?” He doesn’t really expect a response to that, nor does he receive one. “I’ll get back as soon as I can, but it’ll probably be at least a day or two.”

MacGyver nods again, and Jack figures he’s done as much as he can right now to prepare the kid.

“Sleep well, kid,” he says finally, but he can’t resist making one more effort, and he places a gentle hand on MacGyver’s cheek, pleased when the boy doesn’t flinch and merely looks faintly surprised. “I’ll see you in a couple days.”

Jack stands, astonished to realize he already misses the kid, and he hasn’t even left the room yet, much less the house. “Hey, I’m glad you’re here, bud,” he contents himself with saying, and he is rewarded with a tiny smile.

That is enough for now.

~~~

Jack is gone for fifty-two hours and twenty minutes. He is focused, for the most part, thinking of nothing except helping his friend, his attention narrowed as it normally is when he has a job to do.

But also as normal, there are moments. Moments of quiet, of stillness, of inactivity. Moments when Jack has time to think.

And all he can think about is the kid he left at home.

It isn’t that MacGyver isn’t capable of taking care of himself. Jack has seen the teen in action and would back him against almost anyone. The kid is _smart_. And he’s been trained within an inch of his life. If any seventeen-year-old is prepared to defend himself, it’s this one.

If only Jack could be sure that he _would_.

He has the sinking feeling that MacGyver will spend the entire time Jack is gone either hiding in a corner somewhere, refusing to eat or sleep in a bed or do anything that might be construed as taking what doesn’t belong to him; or he will throw furious energy into cleaning the house from top to bottom, improving any device he can get his hands on, and just generally attempting to make himself useful enough that he might be permitted to stay.

He doesn’t believe he’s a person.

Despite Jack’s constant reassurances, Angus still acts sometimes like he’s waiting for orders, waiting for a new mission, waiting to be told how this training has prepared him for his next job. Or—more likely, based on the fragments of nightmare Jack has overheard—how the kid has failed his training and will have to go…well, Jack isn’t sure where, but he knows it isn’t good. He suspects it was something beyond solitary confinement, but he doesn’t dare ask, and MacGyver never volunteers information about Penumbra.

So as glad as Jack is to see his friend, to be able to help, by the time he is free to leave, he’s chafing to get back to his k—_the_ kid.

He hasn’t told anyone about his houseguest. He pretends to himself that this is to protect a minor who, as far as Jack can ascertain, has no birth certificate, no driver’s license, and no idea what his Social Security number is—presumably that information is buried deep inside Penumbra somewhere. It is a huge issue, one that will need to be dealt with, but Jack isn’t sure what to do about it and keeps putting it off. MacGyver doesn’t appear aware of the necessity of such documentation, but considering the kid’s only experiences for the past who-knows-how-many-years outside of the facility where he was trained were highly focused, adrenaline-soaked missions, his lack of knowledge about governmental regulations is hardly surprising.

Jack doesn’t want anyone to ask why he has a teenaged boy living with him, doesn’t want to explain that in some ways, the kid is much, much older than seventeen, and in some ways he’s barely more than a toddler. He has put out a few feelers among old friends and those who owe him favors, trying to figure something out, but he isn’t rushing it. MacGyver doesn’t know when his birthday is—Jack had to explain the concept of a “birthday”—but it has been two months since they met. In just ten more months, Jack can at least be sure he is a legal adult, and then…well, he isn’t quite sure what then. He tries not to think about it, just as he avoids talking to others about MacGyver altogether.

It’s for the kid’s safety, true. But if Jack is honest with himself, he doesn’t want the boy taken away from him.

Something is wrong when he arrives home. At half a block away, the tiny hairs on the back of his neck are standing up, and his gut is screaming at him. He has a gun out of its holster before he realizes it, still trying to determine what it is that seems _off_. From the outside, in the morning light, everything looks normal, doors and windows sealed up tight. Except…

Jack scans the house again and realizes that MacGyver’s bedroom window has something hanging between the curtain and the glass.

Jack’s t-shirt. The first one Jack gave the kid, the one Angus treats as though it is made of spun gold.

Heart beating faster, Jack halts his approach, using every sense to take in all possible information. He has no doubt that the kid put the shirt there as a warning to Jack. He was trying to convey _something_. Jack just needs to figure out what the message is.

It’s doesn’t take much time. The SUVs—four of them—are parked discreetly at distant intervals, but Jack has lived in the neighborhood long enough to know which vehicles belong there. He recognizes the formation, and his gut clenches. This is no mere reconnaissance.

This is an extraction squad.

Jack has no time to be grateful it isn’t a hit. MacGyver is far too valuable, and the budding conscience of the mysterious “S” aside, Penumbra has decided to take back what they believe is theirs.

Even after all this time, Jack isn’t sure Angus won’t go with them semi-willingly—as willingly as a brainwashed kid can. They have plenty of tricks to make him comply if he hesitates, and Jack has no doubt of the outcome if the teen truly resists.

They will kill him before losing him.

Wishing he had a team to back him up, Jack circles the house cautiously, noting as he does so that the Penumbra vehicles are still occupied. Odd. It must mean the organization is counting on their hold over the kid and have sent in a single envoy first. It is only if MacGyver is recalcitrant that the others will be called to assist.

Jack can work with that.

MacGyver’s bedroom has two windows, one at the front of the house and one on the side. He hung the t-shirt in the front-facing window, and while that might just have been for the maximum possibility that Jack would spot it, Jack suspects it was also a clue. The kid will try to keep his “visitors” near the front door, so Jack can slip in the back through the kitchen, where he is less likely to be seen by the vehicles in the street.

He hears voices—well, one voice—as soon as he enters on silent feet.

“What have you learned while here, Angus?” The voice is strident, demanding, slightly patronizing. Jack hates it immediately.

He hates even more the sound of flesh striking flesh.

“Answer me!”

MacGyver’s voice is soft but very slightly defiant, and Jack nearly cheers. “It wasn’t a training exercise.”

The other man scoffs. “Of course it was, Angus. Did you really think we would leave you here for another purpose?”

This is precisely what MacGyver has feared, and Jack is sure the kid will crumple.

“It wasn’t a training exercise.” The quiet voice is less certain, but Jack is impressed he is still fighting. “Jack said so.”

“_Jack_ said so, did he? And who do you answer to, boy? Me or _Jack_?”

Silence.

“Who has always taken care of you? Provided for you all this time? Who took you in when you had no one?”

Jack can hear the intake of breath before MacGyver speaks. “Ja—”

“And who do you think hired Jack to train you?”

No. Jack needs to put a stop to this immediately. He is in position now to see the front hall, and he sees the exact moment the words sink in. The kid slumps, shaggy hair falling forward to partially cover the red handprint on his cheek.

“He—said he didn’t work for—”

As Jack anticipated, Dr. Wilkins, second only to Director Hastene herself, stands in front of the increasingly submissive MacGyver. “Of course he said that,” he says scornfully. “That was part of the training scenario.”

_Don’t believe him, kid_, Jack chants in his head. _Don’t believe him_. But he isn’t sure it is possible for the teen to believe anything else.

“He—” MacGyver gulps, his voice tiny. “He said if I stayed with him, he’d let me go to school. A school for tee—” He struggles over the unfamiliar term for a moment before amending, “—for people my age.”

The doctor’s response is swift and smooth. “Naturally he promised you that, Angus. To see how you would respond.”

_Kid, you are a literal genius!_

Jack knows perfectly well he never said anything about school. Not that there aren’t gaps in the kid’s education—he’d asked Jack what an _umbrella_ was when he’d read the word in a book—but MacGyver is freakishly smart, and his experiences would not lend themselves to traditional schooling, even were he properly documented. No, he had deliberately lied to the doctor, had laid a trap.

And Wilkins had fallen right into it.

MacGyver’s voice is stronger with purpose now, but Jack hopes he can play it off as accepting his fate. “Can I—can I get my notebook from the kitchen before we go?”

The doctor’s tone is smug. “You will be provided with all you need, boy. You always are, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir. But I wrote down the things I learned while I was here. Please, can—may I get it to show you, sir?”

It possibly has enough of a ring of truth to be convincing. Jack knows the notebook exists—it’s a tablet of paper, actually—but he hopes the kid means it when he says it holds things he has learned.

The notepad contains only two sentences, repeated so often they fill almost four full sheets of paper so far.

_A few weeks after MacGyver came to stay—“moved in” seems too strong to Jack since the kid had no possessions other than the clothes on his back—the teen had spiraled even closer to a panic attack than he had that first full day._

_They were in the kitchen, and Jack had decided a diet of pizza and Chinese takeout wasn’t the best for a teenager who—for all Jack knew about adolescent development—might still be growing. Plus, he thought making Angus feel useful would help, and teaching him self-sufficiency skills could only be a good thing._

_They were making spaghetti. Jack figured it was pretty hard to mess up, fortunate because MacGyver seemed oddly inept in the kitchen, hardly surprising, Jack supposed, since he’d probably never been in one before. He put the kid in charge of the noodles and prepped the sauce—his nana’s recipe—himself._

_MacGyver stirred obediently, intense and focused as always, if unenthusiastic. Jack praised him occasionally but had learned not to overdo it as it made the kid edgy._

_“How’s it going there, kid?”_

_“Fine,” Angus replied automatically, and then he glanced down at the contents of the pot. “I-I mean, I think so.”_

_Jack put down the ladle he was wielding and took a careful step closer. “Yep. Looks good, bud. Nice job.”_

_MacGyver didn’t respond. He never did when Jack complimented him._

_“So, kid…” Jack tipped his head to one side, casting about for casual conversation. He’d never had a problem talking with anyone before, but this kid was something completely different. “Angus MacGyver.”_

_The boy’s head shot up, managing to look unnerved and attentive at once._

_“Kind of an unusual name, huh?” Jack was regretting his choice of topic._

_MacGyver shrugged._

_“Family name?” Jack blundered forward since the kid wasn’t backing away._

_MacGyver shrugged again._

_“You like to be called Angus?” Jack thought back to their first meeting. “Or MacGyver?”_

_The teen was starting to turn away again, hunching over the noodles and stirring more vigorously._

_“How about Mac?”_

_Truthfully, Jac wasn’t sure where the words had come from. He had to assume that Penumbra had managed to taint the kid’s very name with the way they used it, so maybe a nickname would help._

_MacGyver—Mac—had lifted his head again, curiosity in his gaze._

_“Yeah. Mac. Kinda suits you, right?” When Mac continued staring, Jack prodded, “Whaddya think, Mac?”_

_After a long moment, a hint of a smile appeared on the kid’s face. “Mac,” he repeated._

_“Mac,” Jack confirmed._

_“I—” The boy ducked his head, blushing. “I like it.”_

_“Then Mac it is. And, Mac, you are in for a treat. My nana’s spaghetti sauce was famous across three counties.” Jack went back to his own culinary project, and the kid continued stirring, his expression a little lighter now._

_Jack congratulated himself on how well things were going. The delicious aromas were making his stomach growl, and Mac was looking increasingly interested in Jack’s secret sauce. So maybe Jack let his guard down too early, not paying enough attention to the kid._

_He provided directions for using the strainer already in the sink, and Mac lifted the pot carefully and poured the slippery strands of spaghetti into the waiting container._

_And dropped the pot with a clang as the steam caught him in the face._

_“Kid!” Jack moved his pan off the burner and raced over to the teen._

_Mac had moved fast enough to avoid burns, but the heat had flushed his face and neck._

_“You okay, kid?”_

_He nodded._

_“I told you to pour away from you, not toward you, remember?” Jack scolded lightly._

_The heat was already dissipating, and beneath the rosiness of his cheeks, Mac paled. “I-I’m sorry, sir. I f-forgot. I’m sorry. Please, sir, I’m sorry, I—”_

_It took Jack nearly ten minutes to calm the kid and convince him that he hadn’t ruined the food or damaged the pot when he’d dropped it into the sink. This was followed by another five minutes of attempting to make the kid believe that not only would he not be punished but that he didn’t deserve to be._

_Frustrated, grieved beyond belief, and angrier than ever at Penumbra, Jack finally gave up._

_“Fine. Sit down.” Jack slapped a hand on the counter, raising an eyebrow until Mac meekly pulled himself onto a stool. “Here. You’re going to write sentences.”_

_The kid’s lips opened in a question that was not voiced._

_“I had to do this all the time at school. Was always getting in trouble.” Jack shrugged. “Write down exactly what I say, got it?”_

_Mac grabbed a pen and poised it above the paper._

_“Okay.” Jack paused for a second to think. He knew what he wanted the boy to understand, but he needed to find the simplest way to help him recognize fundamental truths. “Here it is, kid. You ready?”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

_Jack sighed. “Okay, Mac,” he said slowly, emphasizing the name. “Write: ‘I am a person.’” He waited while Mac obediently scratched the sentence. “Now write: ‘I deserve to be…” He paused, considering for just another moment, before continuing, “…safe…and—” He nearly choked on the next word. “—free, and…” His voice dropped as he finished. “…happy.”_

_Mac looked up expectantly when Jack stopped talking._

_“Read it back to me, kid.”_

_The boy didn’t look pleased at the request, but he would never refuse. “I am a person. I deserve to be safe and free and happy.”_

_Jack nodded. “All right. Write that ten more times, exactly the same, understand?”_

_The kid clearly didn’t understand the point, but he agreed immediately._

_“Mac.” Jack stopped him before he could write more. “I want you to remember this. This is…important, okay? This is true.”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

_The quiet accession clearly meant nothing beyond the kid’s willingness to do as he was told._

_“Ten times,” Jack prompted wearily. Then, before he could stop himself, he added, “Every night. For a week.”_

_Jack had cringed at himself, but to a kid with no conception of “normal” or “usual,” this command did not seem strange. Which is how Jack found himself asking every evening if Mac had finished his sentences. After the first two nights, the kid had started bringing the notepad to Jack for his approval without waiting to be asked. He would recite the sentences upon request, the words coming more easily even if the sentiment still escaped him._

_A week later, Jack was puzzled when Mac continued to show him his ten lines. Jack told him he no longer had to write them if he didn’t want to, but the kid just shrugged. He appeared to find the repetition and routine soothing, so Jack let him carry on. The tablet was kept on the kitchen table next to a collection of different colored pens that Jack had scrounged up to let the kid have some variety._

_“I am a person. I deserve to be safe and free and happy” was now written in almost every shade of the rainbow._

The notebook story must be convincing enough. Dr. Wilkins grunts in approval, and Jack readies himself.

Mac enters the kitchen without turning his head but shows himself aware of Jack’s presence when he drifts toward the counter to his left rather than the table at his right. Unsuspecting, the doctor follows.

Jack pounces, wrapping an arm around the doctor’s neck, vision blurring as he thinks of the torture this man has put his kid through. He tightens his grip against the smaller man’s thrashing, squeezing until the doctor goes limp.

“Don’t kill him.”

At the soft voice, Jack drops the body to the floor. “Why the hell not?” he demands.

Mac just looks down, scuffing one foot against the other.

Jack is panting from the spike of anger and adrenaline, not from exertion, but he takes a step away from the unconscious doctor. “You o—”

Mac’s head snaps up. “They’re coming.”

“What?” And then Jack can hear it too, the pounding on the front walk, and he spots the blinking light on the radio at the doctor’s belt. He must have been able to activate an emergency signal before blacking out. Jack swears.

“All right, kid, I counted at least fifteen, and you can bet they’re armed to the teeth.” As he speaks, Jack is moving efficiently through the kitchen, extracting a handgun from a drawer and yanking a rifle from an almost-hidden rack behind the long curtains of the sliding glass doors. “Maybe we oughtta cut and run, what d’you say?”

Mac shakes his head despairingly. “Ten in front, five in back.”

Either the kid’s hearing is exceptional, or he is extremely familiar with Penumbra’s strike-team strategies. Or both.

“Well, I like our odds against five better than ten.”

“They’ll keep coming,” Mac says, but his voice is absent now, and he is staring at Jack as though they don’t have an imminent threat breathing down their necks. “Why don’t—I should—just go with them. They’ll leave you alone.”

Jack crosses the room in two strides, getting closer to the kid than he usually dares. “Don’t you even think about it,” he growls. “You are goin’ back with those monsters over my dead body, you hear me?”

“Are—are you sure?” Mac’s eyes start glowing with warmth.

“Damn right I’m sure. We’re gettin’ outta here or we’re both goin’ down.”

The kid stares at him a second longer, and Jack doesn’t allow himself to look away or even blink. He needs to prove his sincerity.

With a sharp nod, Mac takes Jack at his word.

“Soak these with vinegar,” he says, thrusting two hand towels at Jack. The kid seems confident now, and Jack has seen what he can do in the field, so he doesn’t question the order.

Mac is digging under the sink, emerging with a bottle of bleach and a container of drain cleaner. “Chloramine gas is poisonous,” he warns. “We shouldn’t stay longer than we need to.”

“Geez, kid, whose side are you on?” Jack gripes, nearly gagging at the scent of vinegar but tying the cloth over his nose and mouth anyway before doing the same for the teen.

“Yours,” Mac answers, apparently taking Jack’s mocking seriously. He allows Jack close enough to secure the soaked towel around his face, his hands not faltering in their swift, certain motions.

Jack’s eyes are watering as the front door splinters and Penumbra agents spill into the house, but their reaction is more than he could have ever hoped for. As soon as they get to the kitchen, they begin coughing, bent over, tears streaming down their cheeks.

Jack doesn’t need to fire a shot to disarm them, dodging among them like a bowling ball knocking down pins. Mac refused the gun Jack offered him, but he, too, is delicately removing weaponry, acting as though it is a game of Operation and precision is key.

Dr. Wilkins begins coughing, which rouses him from unconsciousness. His eyes widen as he takes in the scene.

“Tell them to stand down!” Jack demands, looming above the doctor.

But Wilkins is focused on Mac, who has stopped moving to stare at his trainer.

“Angus! Stop this at once!” Wilkins shouts hoarsely. “Lonely gr—”

Jack punches the doctor in the mouth so hard that the skin of his knuckles tears on the man’s teeth. Wilkins slumps back.

“Let’s get him out of here.” Jack grunts as he hauls the limp body up. He checks to see why Mac hasn’t come to help, but the kid is just standing there, wide-eyed and shaking, as though he has seen a ghost.

“Mac!” Jack snaps. A wild gaze lands on him. “Kid, let’s go!”

Jack drags Wilkins into the hall, leaving the Penumbra agents gasping in the kitchen, and Mac, still looking shell-shocked, follows.

“Kid, I know you asked me not to,” Jack begins gruffly. “But I don’t see a way to stop them other than—”

Mac stoops and picks up the wallet that has been jolted from the doctor’s pocket and hands it to Jack.

Jack is rolling his eyes at someone actually bringing their wallet along on a raid—but the doctor isn’t a field operator, he supposes—and automatically paws through the contents. He freezes for the barest second.

“Hey.” He kicks at the supine figure on the floor, leaning down and snapping his fingers in front of the doctor’s face. “Wake up, asshole.”

Wilkins blinks groggily and groans, lips too swollen to form words.

“Pay attention. You see this? Your girls, huh? Cute little things. Deserve a better dad than a piece of shit like you.”

Wilkins stiffens as the photos are waved in front of him.

“Guess what? I know where they live now. I know their names and what they look like. And if you or any of your goons ever come after me or the kid again, I will make sure they know exactly what it feels like to be one of their daddy’s experiments, got it?”

Terror is plain in Wilkins’s eyes. “Hastene—” he manages to rasp.

“You just better do a good job of convincing your boss to back off.”

Wilkins nods soundlessly, scrambling for the radio at his hip and murmuring into it. MacGyver has disappeared, and Jack figures he opened a window in the kitchen when he hears hacking coughs and cursing, and the kid darts back into the hall and attaches himself to Jack’s side. The five agents who, Jack is thankful to note, followed orders and stayed outside, troop through the broken front door a few minutes later, managing to look sheepish and professional at the same time as they assist their brethren out.

Jack doesn’t let Wilkins leave until the last man is gone.

“Tell Hastene,” he growls. “She gave him up and he isn’t going back. Ever. Got it?” He very deliberately tucks the wallet photos into his pocket.

Wilkins swallows hard, forcing the words out. “She’s on a rampage. Furious at everyone for losing an asset.”

Mac’s head is down, and he stiffens at the words, fueling Jack’s rage.

“Listen up.” He snatches the doctor’s collar and holds him nose-to-nose. “First of all, that kid is a _person_, not an asset. And second, _she’s_ the one who cut him loose.”

Wilkins bobbles his head anxiously. “I-I know. But she’s blaming everyone for talking her into it. She already had Dr. Snow ter—” He cuts himself off.

Mac straightens sharply at that, head snapping up. “Dr. Snow—” He, too, is unable to complete the sentence.

Wilkins nods somberly, looking, for a moment, almost sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Angus.”

The kid takes a deep breath. “Jack…” he whispers. “I can’t—not worth—”

“No.” Jack wheels, grasping the kid by the shoulders for the first time. Mac’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t look away. “You are _not_ sacrificing yourself for the SOBs who made your life hell. Your job is to _live_, you hear me?”

Mac doesn’t answer, but Jack can’t keep his back to Wilkins any longer. He spins around. “And you. I don’t care what you have to do, but you are going to convince her to back off. Tell her he’s dead. Tell her he’s in a coma. Tell her whatever you have to, but whatever she’ll do to you is nothing compared to what I’ll do to your cute little daughters if I see anyone so much as sniffing around.”

Wilkins is white as a sheet. “I-I-I could maybe—maybe tell her he-he’s been damaged. That he c-can’t operate anymore.”

Jack hears the kid gulp, but he can’t focus on that now. “Fine,” he barks. “Just get it done.” He gestures roughly, and the doctor flinches away from him, scurrying toward the exit.

Jack is loath to let him go but doesn’t see an alternative. Besides, he needs to think about the teen still quaking behind him.

“You were great, buddy,” he says softly as soon as the Penumbra vehicles are out of sight. “No one I’d rather have in my corner.”

Mac doesn’t appear to hear him, still fixated on the broken door through which Wilkins has exited.

“Hey. Kid.” Jack whistles and waves his hands. “Eyes on me.” He waits until he has at least part of the teen’s attention. “You did good,” he repeats.

Mac blinks as though he cannot comprehend the words.

“They won’t bother you again,” Jack vows.

At that, Mac looks at the door again and then at the floor, tongue nervously darting out to wet his lips.

“I meant what I said, kid. If they want you, they have to go through me first.”

After a long moment, Mac looks up, finally voicing the question he has wanted to ask since the first day Jack brought him home. “Why?”

Jack doesn’t have a ready answer, but he’s pleased at the intensity in the kid’s tone, the desire to know stronger than the fear of asking questions. And then he knows what to say.

“What’s on your paper, kid?”

Mac glances toward the kitchen, but he doesn’t need the notepad to recite the simple sentences. “I am a person. I deserve to be s-safe and—and free—” For the first time, the kid stumbles over the words, trailing off in a disbelieving whisper.

“And happy,” Jack completes for him. “And we’re gonna work together and make sure that’s what happens, all right?”

Mac is staring desperately, but Jack can see that he doesn’t want to ask _why_ again.

He responds anyway. “We’re…a team, you and me. Partners. We work together and help each other, ‘cause that’s what partners do.” Jack takes a deep breath. “Everybody needs somebody.” As he speaks, he realizes how true this is. He has been a freelancer for a long time, long enough to be comfortable working on his own without getting close to others. But he is social by nature, and having the kid around has grounded him in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.

He almost misses Mac’s quiet question. “Even you?”

Jack grins. “Especially me. And I need _you_.” He lets the comment hang in the air for a second before adding lightly, “Pretty handy to have a genius around. Lucky for both of us you left me that signal in your window. How’d you manage that, anyway?”

Mac shrugs. “Saw D—him at the front door when he—he rang the…” Mac pauses, thinking. “Door sound.”

Jack turns his back so the kid won’t see his jaw drop. Dr. Wilkins had the temerity to _ring the doorbell_?! And even sadder, Mac had _answered_.

“Okay,” he says, aiming to keep his voice casual. “How about we decide not to open the door to unfriendlies in the future, all right?” Realization dawns. “That means anyone from Penumbra, okay?”

Mac nods, face blank, and Jack suddenly isn’t sure what he’s thinking. Did he let Wilkins enter because he couldn’t say no to his former trainer? Or did he recognize the extraction team and figure his odds were better if they weren’t called in immediately? Jack hopes it is the latter, but he doesn’t think it is the time to ask.

“How about we fix that door, partner?”

Mac perks up a little. “Could make it stronger,” he offers.

“Yeah? How’s that?”

And for the next several hours, they lose themselves in repairs, the kid seeming strangely soothed by the task.

That night, for the first time, when Jack enters the kid’s room, Mac is already in bed, offering a tentative smile when Jack wishes him goodnight.

~~~

Three weeks have passed since the visit from the not-so-good doctor, and Mac is finally starting to look a little less haunted. Jack, on the other hand, is even jumpier, anxious about the future for this kid he is somehow committed to.

He’ll have to take another job sometime in the next few months. His accounting of his savings hadn’t reckoned on a starving, possession-less teenager for whom he feels responsible. Mac never eats without permission, uses a tiny amount of water, prefers books to TV, doesn’t turn on lights, and never asks for anything, but there are still expenses. Jack purchased some clothing to supplement the items he gifted the boy, all of which Mac keeps scrupulously clean and neat. Plus, Jack has no intention of letting the kid go hungry for even one day, so he pushes food as frequently as he can, finally numbing to the shock of all the things Mac has never tried—the kid’s surprise at tasting a strawberry or garlic mashed potatoes doesn’t make him rush from the room to hide how much that disturbs him anymore.

There are always plenty of offers of work for someone with Jack’s skill set, and though in recent years he has become more and more selective, his criteria have abruptly changed. He needs the shortest possible job for the highest salary so that he can get back home. He and Mac haven’t been separated since their run-in with Penumbra, and Jack knows the kid won’t react well to Jack’s absence. Unfortunately, that type of assignment is most likely to be…the kind Jack thought he had put behind him. The kind that needs steady hands, steely nerves, and not much else beyond a lack of conscience. But for Mac’s sake, if that’s what Jack has to do, he will do it.

Apart from a single trip to the grocery store, Mac hasn’t left the house, but Jack is confident the place has never been more secure. He gave the kid free rein, and Mac shows remarkable genius at turning junk into something useful. Jack offered to take him to a hardware store—he had to explain the concept and eventually resorted to showing the teen some pictures online—and while Mac looked interested, he shook his head, clearly not up for further excursions yet. But he did hesitantly mention certain parts that would be helpful, and when Jack got them and brought them home, the kid accepted them, which Jack counted as a win.

Mac is gradually allowing himself to relax around Jack. He continues to write his daily sentences, but he lingers over them now as though pondering the depth of their meaning. Jack doesn’t think he needs to prompt their recitation anymore, but when he pops in to wish the kid goodnight—something the teen appears to continue to desire even if he now climbs into bed on his own—and asks how Mac is doing, the kid will occasionally whisper shyly that he is happy.

It makes Jack’s heart nearly burst with affection and pride, and he wants more than ever to take care of this kid, not to let anything happen to him ever again.

If only he could figure out how to do that without leaving him alone and vulnerable.

The knock on the door is a courtesy. Jack understands that as soon as he spies their visitor. Patricia Thornton could have gotten in, possibly even past Mac’s upgraded defenses, without breaking a sweat.

Jack doesn’t have to say a word to Mac for the kid to take the hint to make himself scarce. He disappears upstairs, but it is certain that he is listening.

“Patty!” Jack says with as much heartiness as he can muster.

“It’s Director Thornton,” the woman corrects icily, strolling inside with utter confidence.

“Director, now?” Jack raises an eyebrow. “Which agency got lucky enough for that?”

She ignores the question. “I’ll come straight to the point, Dalton.”

“You always do, Patty.” He enjoys the barest flicker of annoyance that is generally the only reaction he can get out of her, even after crossing paths with her numerous times over the years.

“I’m here to recruit you.”

Jack hesitates. “O-kay,” he drawls. He shouldn’t be surprised that Thornton would know he is looking for work. They have enough mutual acquaintances, plus she has an unnerving knack for knowing things without being told.

“More specifically, I’m here to recruit both of you.”

When he wants to, Jack can maintain a poker face to rival Thornton’s, but inside, he is panicking. “You been hittin’ the sauce early today, Patty? Seein’ double?”

“Angus MacGyver.” Thornton doesn’t open a file folder and begin reading, but her tone makes it seem that is exactly what she’s doing. “Seventeen years old. Most recently with Penumbra.”

Jack can’t help a faint growl at the name.

Sounding slightly more satisfied, Thornton continues. “Taken in by a freelance operative after a rat was found in the organization and Penumbra’s most successful…_experiment_—” her voice softens slightly—“was deemed no longer useful. He’s still here, isn’t he?”

Jack’s fists are clenched now. It is pointless trying to deny anything she is saying.

“Jack.” Thornton sounds cool and collected as ever, but there is an edge of kindness in her tone. “I work for an agency called DXS.”

“Never heard of it.”

“That’s the idea. We take on projects that others can’t. I think we can put your skills to use there, and Angus MacGyver would be a great asset.”

Jack takes a threatening step forward before he can remember that he probably wouldn’t aim to hurt his old acquaintance, even if he could. “It’s _Mac_. And he isn’t an _asset_.”

Her voice gentles further. “I didn’t mean it like that. I know about Penumbra, Jack. I know what they did to him—probably more than you do, if what our psychologists are telling me is correct. He doesn’t talk about it, does he?”

She doesn’t wait for a response, and Jack doesn’t offer one.

“At DXS, he could _thrive_. Be useful and productive without being controlled.”

Jack is shaking his head now. “I don’t want him anywhere near that life.”

“Jack,” she says patiently, “that’s all he knows. And you’ve seen him. He’s _good_. Tier-one good.”

“And you want to waltz in and grab him up before someone else gets their hands on him, huh?” Jack says a bit bitterly.

Thornton isn’t fazed. “That’s exactly what I want. Not just for us, but for him, too.”

Jack opens his mouth to fire a sarcastic reply, but she speaks first.

“You’ll be his partner, Jack.”

Jack’s jaw clicks shut.

“He will never go out in the field without _you_ backing him up, regardless of who else is on the team. You will not be separated. You have my word on that.”

There is a beat of silence.

“Patty—”

“Not only that, but we’ll get his documentation sorted out.” She smiles grimly. “We were able to pull his information from Penumbra’s files.”

Jack sort of wishes he’d been able to see Thornton facing off with Hastene. His money is on Patty, every time.

“We’ll keep him part-time while he’s still a minor, which will give him time to work with our staff psychologists and some tutors to help with his education.”

Jack’s head is whirling, but then Thornton does pull out a folder, and he is stunned further.

“And to make it all nice and legal…” She gives Jack a minute to scan the contents.

“I—” If Jack hadn’t trained for years to not show weakness in front of anyone he doesn’t trust absolutely, he would be sinking into a chair right now. “I’d be his guardian?”

“Temporarily. Until he turns eighteen.” Thornton’s tone borders on triumphant. “That way he couldn’t be taken away from you, and you would have legal rights.”

The deafening silence echoes through the house until Jack swears he can hear the kid upstairs holding his breath.

“Patty…”

“I know you’ll want to discuss it with him,” Thornton says briskly. “But this is a good offer. The best you’ll get anywhere. I can wait twenty-four hours for your answer.”

She takes a step toward the door, but then they both hear a faint sound on the stairs.

“MacGyver,” Thornton acknowledges calmly, immediately correcting herself. “Mac. I’m Director Patricia Thornton of DXS.”

Mac creeps the rest of the way into the living room to stand slightly behind Jack, but he doesn’t speak.

“I was just explaining an offer we’re extending to both you and Mr. Dalton.”

Jack is sure the kid heard the whole thing, and Thornton probably knows it too, but she acts as though she is completely at ease repeating the entire conversation.

“We are interested in your talents as a free agent, Mac.” She very slightly emphasizes the word _free_, and Jack feels a surge of appreciation.

“Of course, while you are still underage, there will be limits on your involvement with us, but should you decide to continue with the organization, you and Dalton will have more say in the kinds of assignments you accept.”

Mac looks at Jack then, as if asking for confirmation.

“She doesn’t need an answer right now, kid. We can think—”

“Yes.”

Jack is taken aback. “What?”

“I—I want to. If you do.” Mac ducks his head at that, a gesture Jack knows means he is uncertain he is doing or saying the correct thing. “I mean, you—you—”

“It sounds like a good offer, kid,” Jack says slowly. Actually, it would solve pretty much all the problems currently facing them in one fell swoop. But he isn’t going to rush the teen into anything. “But we don’t have to decide right now.”

Mac nods, looking down and fiddling with the ties on his hoodie, and Jack can tell the kid’s mind is already made up. He just isn’t sure what Jack wants.

“Hey,” he says softly, waiting for Mac to look up. “Patty, can you give us a minute?”

Thornton nods sharply and strides silently from the room.

“This is a big decision, bud. Means a lot of changes for both of us.”

Mac is shuffling his feet now. “If you don’t want—”

“No. I never said that. Remember what I told you? We’re already partners, whether that’s at some alphabet-soup org or not.”

Mac smiles faintly.

“But this—this would make me your guardian, kid. Legally.” Jack hesitates. “Is that something that’s okay with you?”

Wide blue eyes search Jack’s face. “Do you—”

“No. Stop. This ain’t about what I want, okay?”

Mac looks away, and Jack realizes that was the wrong thing to say.

He sighs. “Mac. I want you here. I want to work with you and watch you grow up and—” He cuts himself off before he can say _take care of you_. “I would love to be your guardian, kid, but only if that’s what you want. _Really_ want. Not because you think I—”

“Yes.”

Once again, Jack is startled at the speed of the word. “Are you sure?”

Mac nods. “I—I want this, Jack. I—we can help people. More than P—more than I did. Before.”

Jack hears the need in the teen’s voice, the desire to put to good use the skills that were forced upon him. And maybe it is wishful thinking on his part, but he imagines he hears the desire for…a partner. Family.

“Then I think we’ve got our answer.” Jack smiles. He calls to Thornton, who emerges from the kitchen, carrying three champagne flutes she apparently dug out of Jack’s cabinets.

There is no champagne in the house, so the glass she hands Jack is filled with beer, Mac’s with apple juice. But from her pleased expression, Jack can tell she walked into the house knowing what the response to her offer would be.

She lifts her glass. “A toast. To new adventures.”

Jack lifts his in response, looking fondly at Mac. “To partners.”

Mac studies both adults for a second before mimicking their actions. “To…being a person.”

“Safe,” Jack murmurs, treasuring the weight that has settled in his chest.

“Free,” Thornton chimes in, and Jack is momentarily startled until he realizes Mac’s writing tablet is in the kitchen where she waited.

Mac speaks deliberately, his voice warm. “And happy.”

All three are smiling as they clink their glasses together in salute.


End file.
